


The Borderlands: Burning Sensations

by Fatal_Blow



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:11:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatal_Blow/pseuds/Fatal_Blow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago, a Vault was opened on Pandora, releasing a creature known as the Destroyer.  It was only through the efforts of a valiant team of Vault Hunters that the Destroyer was slain and the Vault sealed once more.  Pandora was returned to a state of uneasy peace.  Whatever peace on Pandora could be defined as, for it certainly can't be described underneath normal circumstances.</p>
<p>If only things could be so simple.</p>
<p>A second Vault has been discovered on the rocky world of Pandora, locking two local companies, Southpauz and Johnston Inc., in the grips of war.  Caught in between, of course: the residents of Sanctuary, and the efforts of Hunter Spades as he tries to hold the small city together and somehow prevent the top powers from opening the Vault.  The tides change, however, when a familiar, and very unwelcome face, shows up in Sanctuary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a highly self-indulgent story about my OCs in the Borderlands universe. Enjoy. Updates are whenever, although I do have some chapters saved up so let's go with a tentative "once a week," sound good? Sound good.

**Chapter 1**

 

 

 

“It's like somethin' dead and that one cow's massive ass, what's her name? Ah who cares, but they got together with one of those stupid, broken down Catch-a-Whatever-the-Fuck that fam-fucker calls 'em to create the love child they called This Smell,” Jon said.

He crossed his arms behind his head and slung his legs over the edge of the gunners seat of the runner, he liked to call it his “Gold-Digger 9-20,” he and his bodyguard, Tom (The Enforcer) were in. He'd been in more comfortable positions, but was there really anything comfortable about these things? He figured he oughta invent something a bit more substantial. And stylish. At least this one didn't smell like the den of a bullymong.

“C'mon, Tom, that was funny,” Jon said, leaning over the edge. He pushed the curly brown locks that fell into his face out of the way as he glanced down at his companion through his glasses.

The most he could see was the mass of messy, dark brown hair as Tom stared ahead. His dull blue uniform, the single shoulder guard marked with a shiny, golden J –the only kempt thing about his wear– was wrinkled along the thick, beefy arms that he'd folded across his chest, a pose he often assumed in his silence.

“You never laugh anymore when I say somethin' funny,” Jon said, reaching down to snatch a few strands of his hair. “Oi, you even listenin' to me?”

A chiseled, brown face turned upwards to him, one eyebrow raised above narrowed, brown eyes. Jon grinned, gleefully noting that it was a glare that could make some of the most battle hardened nomads shit their briefs, but such a look was one he'd grown up with.

“Getting impatient?” Tom said.

He breathed a sigh, mostly glad that his guard had finally said _something_ . “Nah, no, yes, a little,” he said, then shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Sittin' outside the, ah, what do they call themselves? Let's go with the Crimson _Shitters_.” He paused, waiting for Tom's face to shift into an amused smirk. It didn't, so he continued, “Sittin' outside their camp ain't nothin' to be excited about. Why does Pandora gotta rotate so damn slow, right? Mornin' should just hurry and get here.”

Tom turned, resuming his forward facing vigil. Before Jon had disturbed him, he'd been sitting with his feet on the runner's dash for a solid hour, completely unmoving. Jon collapsed back into his seat with a loud sigh.

“Ain't there bandits outside their doors? Let's kill 'em,” he said, sitting bolt upright. “Oh, _oh_ , Tom. Tom, let's gas the fuckers, can you imagine the _looks_ on their faces while they're chokin' on their own lungs?!” He began to laugh. “Holy shit, we should use that stuff that Juli invented. You remember her face when I, when I, haha, totally exploded it in her face?”

He buckled into himself, supporting himself on the edge of the turret as he laughed. Tom remained silent with nothing more than a sigh.

“Look, you go in now for da bandits, den you going in for da whole t'ing, knowing you,” Tom said as his laughter began to die down. “And den you're waiting anodder hour for dem to wake up just so you can show off.”

“Then let's get started. I'll brin' a drink to keep me company,” Jon said past breathless giggles. “Maybe two.” He ducked down into the turret to grab a few things he'd left to sit at his feet.

“One. You get violent when you drunk, Jonny,” Tom said. He only just heard him and popped up to give his reply.

“Wha-hut? What's that, Tom, who's the leader of Johnston Inc., Pandora's most powerful company, the sole rival of Southpauz?” Jon said. He cupped a hand around his ear when Tom didn't say anything. “What? Can't hear you over the sound of my greatness.”

Still silence. Jon shifted uncomfortably, smirk fading before he ducked back down into the turret pit. He grabbed a single drink and finished equipping himself before he leapt out of the runner.

His appearance was deceiving. Far from the muscle head that Tom was, he was, in fact, a man of much slighter build, with thin shoulders and hips just a touch too wide, a few inches short of properly being able to deem himself average height. His dark blue jacket, with flaring coattails, was kept neat, with an extravagant, light blue collar, shiny gold buttons, and, of course, the golden J on the left collar.

He didn't need the belt to hold up his black skinny jeans, but its use was found instead in the many small trinkets, a couple of guns, a knife or three, and an elaborately made _Johnston Endothermic Nova_ shield gilded in gold sitting proudly at his hip. When he reached behind his head, a smallish looking sniper digistructed at his will for him to pull over his shoulder. Compared to his other weapons, it looked ragged, like it'd been left to rust for a decade. It was a _Zahakian Cliphoof Elephant Gun._

“Elephant gun never fails me,” he muttered as he peered one-eyed down its length.

It didn't have a proper scope, but when it hit it hit hard, and he just so happened to be an excellent shot. He hovered the two points sticking up near the end of the barrel, placing a head outlined against the moon –a Crimson Raider who was on guard for the night– between them. A wave of impulsive glee made him shiver and he just about squeezed the trigger.

“Jon.” Tom's gloved hand wrapped around the gun and shoved it downwards. “There's two.”

“Right, right,” he said, pulling the sniper away from him.

He tossed it to the side; it dissolved into pixels before it ever hit the ground. He pointed himself towards the small camp that had been tucked into the corner between the cliff and Sanctuary's wall. Tonight's goal: infiltrate the peaceful, plain, normal, boring, adorably _rebellious_ city. He knew there was a Vault Hunter there, a man by the name of Spades, who headed the entire operation, as well as a few more key components to his plan.

Getting in would be a breeze. Blackmail material a _cakewalk_ . Taking care of the bandits stationed outside would be _fun_ , he thought, as he grabbed two bulbous, grenade-like objects from his belt and gazed at them with fond, half-lidded eyes. He rubbed them together a bit, creating a pleasantly obnoxious grating sound.

Beside him Tom stood, seemingly weaponless. His uniform was standard for Johnston Inc.'s faithful fighters, cargo pants and large boots, the sleeves of his heavy jacket rolled up on both sides, the colour scheme a mix of dull blues and metallic silvers on grey canvas. Although not so armoured himself, he, too, bore a powerful shield that sat contentedly at his hip, tightly secured to his belt along with a few other necessities, including grenades, emergencies clips, and a pistol that looked old and disused.

Jon watched as Tom stood idly, eyes to the sky as rubbed his hands. He raised them to his mouth to blow hot air into them, billowing clouds escaping his fingers. Really, what had he expected from the Frozen Wastes? A cozy fire and some hot chocolate? Jon began walking, enjoying the crunch of newly fallen snow beneath his boots.

The bandits were sleeping, with only one or two milling about behind the wooden fence, lost in their crazed mutterings, boots scuffing and scraping the dirt as they paced. Jon crouched with his back to the fence, hidden by a reeking garbage bin with Tom at his side. He adjusted his shield's settings to protect from the gas, as did Tom, and twisted the pin out of one of the grenades before throwing it over the fence.

His favourite part about flaking gas was that they didn't scream. The odourless weapon constricted airways before they could even think to yell, driving them to the ground, writhing and clawing at their own throats. No, no, that wasn't his favourite part. His favourite was when their skin literally dried up and flaked and peeled off of their bodies, exasperated by their desperate flailing until they died either from asphyxiation or, if he was particularly lucky, clawing their own throats out and bleeding to death.

Of course Sanctuary's night guards wouldn't notice or care. A couple of psychos squirming on the ground was far from unusual.

“Snipers out, Tom, there's two,” Jon hissed. He grabbed the elephant gun and twisted around the fence to level it with one of their heads. “I've got right.”

“Left,” Tom said, his own corrosive sniper digistructed and ready.

Practice had them shooting at the same time, with only a few milliseconds difference. Jon made sure he hit the trigger twice. One to punch a hole in their shield, another to shatter their skull and liquefy their brains. He snorted a laugh at the thought. He got up, pulled the pin on the other gas grenade, and flung it at the main bandit building. It was a long bow and teleported neatly beyond the window he aimed it at.

“And now, doors,” Jon said as they stopped before the first set of gates blocking their way. He shot Tom a look, but he was already stalking forward.

On both arms, two massive, mechanical “gloves” digistructed. Jon pulled a cigarette out of his pocket along with a golden zippo, branded with a fancy J, to light it. He took a drag, letting smoke sit in his mouth for a second, then inhaled as Tom punched the doors inwards. He grabbed the edges of the misshapen hole he'd created and wrenched it open big enough to get inside.

Jon stepped through it as Tom started on the second. It was a lift door, instead, so he dug the fingers of the gloves into the ground beneath it and pulled it upwards with trembling arms. Jon sucked more smoke into his mouth before he ducked underneath. He walked across the bridge as Tom lowered the gate back down, inhaling his fix and exhaling the resultant cloud.

He passed off the cig to Tom, who took a drag as they strolled across the bridge, gripped in wintery silence. Jon hated it.

“I'll leave you to smash the shield generator,” he said. He accepted the smoke when it was handed back to him. “Ain't worth my time to sit there and watch you punch thin's.” Tom grunted his agreement. “There shouldn't be too many guards on the inside. Maybe a few night wanderers, but ain't that what cloakin' tech's for?”

He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and they split at the end of the bridge, Jon walking towards the city that sat neatly on the cliff side, looking ready to topple over. Tom made a beeline for another building, disappearing among the rocks he slunk along. The Crimson Raiders only seemed to grow more paranoid with time. Stealth was their best option.

Jon filled the silence with his muttered thoughts. “Should've brought the signal jammer,” he said. “Shitty lil' thin'; would've stopped the shield guards and wall guards from waking up Spades if we fucked up, though...”

He stopped talking as he crouched behind a rock to reload his sniper. He was starting to sound like the bandit psychos that stammered their gibberish garbage at every given chance. Undesirables like that were the first on his “Morons to Kill Once I'm King” list. He settled for humming to himself as he levelled his next shot to the head of another guard on top of one of Sanctuary's walls. The silence reminded him that he was alone and much too far from his bodyguard for comfort.

He shot the guards and strolled towards the entrance. He activated his cloak as he approached the centre of the city, avoiding drunks in alleyways and the one asshole stumbling from door to door, knocking on each one three times before moving on to the next. He would have activated earlier but he could only afford to bring a small one and a battery that small would only sustain him for ten minutes, give or take.

Fortunately, as he stared at the tall building across the way, unique on its own from the many Crimson Raiders' symbols on it, he knew that ten minutes would be more than enough.

The door was unlocked, an anticipated act that he could thank the resident genius for. He'd dealt with Shi'da in the past and knew that, if he had his way, the man would keep all doors open, as well. He stepped into the building, which only smelled marginally better than the streets.

Snoring greeted him. The famously infamous scientist was sprawled across two wooden chairs and swathed in blankets, in a position that he would pay for sleeping in once he awoke, Jon figured. Nothing could be made out of the man other than a mop of bright, white hair. His face was otherwise hidden by blankets.

Any other time he might have rifled through his notes, but the sun had been coming up when he'd hit city centre and he only had so much cloak time. He continued straight up the stairs, cringing a little with every creak and groan of the material beneath him, and turned right into what he assumed was the control room. Judging by the holo-map on the table in the centre, he didn't think he was wrong.

“Let there be light,” he whispered as he pushed open the doors to the balcony on the other side of the room. A fresh, cold breeze greeted him, blowing away the stale smells of the inside, the weak sunrise light just beginning to fill in. He wondered if the doors had ever been opened.

_These people are so damn bland,_ he thought as he sat down with his beer.

He was nearly done his drink when his much awaited breakfast companion appeared at the control room door. He walked a couple of steps into the room, wearing nothing but threadbare pyjama pants that hung off of his wide hips along with a pistol he probably slept with. His browned flesh stretched over a thick, powerful build. He was a muscle head, like Tom, but unlike Tom his shoulders weren't quite so broad, giving him the appearance of a rectangle of muscle.

He was pushing long, light brown hair –it was thick, Jon wondered how it might do as lining for a jacket or maybe a hat– out of his blue-grey eyes, but only spotted the intruder once he'd stopped at the table. He grabbed his pistol and pointed it at him.

“You bas—”

“Uh ba ba,” Jon said, raising a finger. Hunt stopped at the trigger, some sort of leftover mercy saved for a split second longer for Jon to continue, “You're going to wake everyone up if you go around firin' off that pistol there, Goldilocks. Not that it'll do you any good. Like, seriously? How dare you point a _Southpauz Win-Loss Repeater_ at me.”

“How the hell did you get in here?” Hunt snapped. The pistol did not drop.

Jon crossed one leg over the other. “I could go into all of the pesky little details but here's the thin': I'm not gonna,” he said. “Long story short, though, I'm better than you and your, and your pack of savages, let's call 'em.”

“I hope you know the consequences of killing me now that the city's waking up,” he said.

A bit calmer under the belief that he had some sort of upper hand – _adorable_ – his voice maintained more of his accent, with rolling Rs and Ws turned Vs that Jon attributed to one of the many accents from the planet Kaniva. It was enjoyable to listen to, and Hunt was awfully enjoyable to look at, as well, with the way his dishevelled locks reflected the sun, cascading over his shoulders like a waterfall of gold.

“If I wanted to kill you then I would've used flakin' gas,” Jon said. He began giggling. “Would've sat at the foot of your bed, watchin' you writhe pathetically while your skin all peels off. It's the funniest thin'.”

For a second, Hunt watched him, holding them both in wary suspicion of one another. His ECHO communicator binged. Without taking his eyes off of him, Hunt answered it. Jon placed his almost empty bottle off to the side and folded his hands neatly into his lap.

“What is it?” he said.

“'Random CR member three calling, sir,'” Jon said in a high and mocking tone. “'The shield appears to be down, sir, because of the Enforcer. Oh shit, oh shit, here he comes—'” He cut himself off with white noise to indicate the loss of connection.

By the look on Hunt's face, from which all the colour had drained, he couldn't have been too far off. He stormed across the room, grabbed the front of Jon's jacket, and dragged him to his feet. If he was supposed to be intimidated by the act, he really wasn't. In fact, his close proximity, the smell of sweet alcohol on his breath, lips not terribly far despite being curled aggressively, all made his pants feel tight all of the sudden, a shiver crawling up his spine. He'd always liked it rough.

“What did you do to our shield?!” Hunt yelled, spittle splattering on Jon's face.

“Look, Goldilocks, I like being manhandled as much as the next person,” Jon said, grabbing his hands with every intention of having them removed. From his jacket, not his wrists. Unfortunately he still needed Hunt to be able to shoot. “Probably _more_ than the next person, but I don't think now's the _time_ for that.”

“Shut up and talk.”

“You savages are all so rude,” he said. He tightened his grip, digging his nails into Hunt's skin until he finally released him. “Your shield's down because I broke it.” Hunt raised a fist. “Okay, _I_ didn't break it. Tom did. But no need to worry that's an easy fix. I could get you a better shield, but first you need to hear me out.”

“Why the _hell_ should I listen to anything the biggest, most pompous, arrogant, son of a jerkwad _asshole_ on all of Pandora has to say?” Hunt said.

“Because your shield's down –you do remember me saying that right– and it won't take long for Southpauz's moon base,” he nodded towards the balcony, where the massive ship could be seen in locked orbit between the moon Elpis and Pandora, “to notice and mortar you all to death.”

Hunt followed his gaze only for a second before his eyes settled on Jon again. “Why do _you_ need _us_?” he said, his tone heightened only by his disbelief.

“You have talent,” he said, raising fingers to count off his points on, “even I'll admit that. You have information, power, you're more than any stock soldiers I have except for, of course, the Enforcer, and you have the means to get around without being watched as closely as I usually am by Southpauz. To Southpauz, you're ants –not _spider_ ants, they're, ugh, forget it you don't know what they are– to them and that works to the advantage of both you and I.”

“Not so confident to eliminate us?” Hunt said. Again with the thinking he had the upper hand. Maybe he would have to fuck him if he didn't stop being so adorably naive. “Thought you were convinced you were some kind of god.”

Jon started a little in pleasant surprise, a smile curling at his lips. “A god? God's a little...y'know.” He chuckled. “Over the top, innit? I mean, sure, if that's what you want to liken me to then by all means. But look. Getting rid of you? It's not gonna be that hard. All I gotta do is walk out without givin' you a new shield and the moon base will have at you. It'll only be stragglers, after that, and stragglers are nothing compared to the force of small city.

“But dying's not a thin' you people wanna do, so how about you put away the gun, sit down, and we chat over a drink?” He gestured towards the other chair as he sat down again.

Hunt didn't budge, his lips pursed and hands curled into trembling fists. “You're underestimating us,” he said.

“Am I? You're just one lonely Vault Hunter in charge of a city of desperate souls,” Jon whispered. “You only have a very small force to speak of. But you could have more.”

“...You want something from _me_ , though,” Hunt said. He finally gave in and sat down. “Because a small force of 'desperate souls' is of no worth to you, no matter how skilled some of us are.”

“With you personally? Nothin' much,” Jon said with a wave of his hand. “You're an incredible soldier, sure, but you're just one man. What I'm gettin' out of this, once I've proceeded with other parts of the plan, are you in charge of an elite force that Southpauz is going to think nothin' of until it's too late. But another thin' I want? I want your Siren.”

Hunt's breath hitched, his head snapping up. “What do you want with Alice?” he snapped.

He rolled his eyes, shooting him a half-grin. “You see, Spades,” he began, “despite all the fear mongerin' Southpauz is doin', sayin' that they have the Vault Key and all?” He breathed a laugh. “Well, they don't. I do. But it needs to be charged and for that I need a Siren.”

“H...How is she supposed to charge the Vault Key?” Hunt said quietly.

“I'd explain it but I'm sure you would fail to understand half the words I'd use so I'll spare you further damage to your tiny brain,” Jon said. “The point is that she's been on Pandora long enough now that she can. So, are you joinin' me, or should I find another bunch of savages to help me?”

“I need more out of this other than your shitty blackmail,” Hunt said.

“Like? Like what?”

“What happens to Southpauz? What are you going to do with the Vault?” he demanded. “Do you even know what's in there?”

“Of course I know what's inside,” he said. “And Southpauz dies, of course. All of them. Right down to that bratty little... Ugh.” He shook his head. “As for the Vault, well, I'll use it to brin' peace to Pandora. Ain't soundin' so bad, innit? Trust me, even if you don't like me, I'm _still_ the lesser of the two evils: Southpauz is interested only in the Eridium here and they'll use the Vault to destroy everythin' on this planet just to make it that much easier for them to mine.”

“How do I know you're not lying?”

“You don't really, especially since, spoiler alert, I'm a good liar, but at least I'll give you a new shield and new purpose,” he said with a shrug. “And how about new weapons, too? Honestly, even if you say no I'll give you new weapons because I honestly pity you so much after you pointed that Win-Loss at me. Southpauz is all cheap and half-assed, do you know how easily those thin's jam up? You'll want some good Johnston weaponry; we make _quality_.”

Hunt's chest heaved once and he shook his head. “I can't make this decision alone,” he said.

“Well however you make the decision,” Jon said as he stood up, “you better make it fast. I'm going to take a stroll around town in the mean time. I imagine you've got maybe an hour and a half before Southpauz passes their scans over this area.”

He walked past Hunt and left, blowing him a kiss at the door before disappearing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 

Hunt's stomach turned with anxiety as he stared across the town centre. Jon had already disappeared from sight, but he'd left a bad taste in his mouth. He gripped the ledge of the balcony until his hands ached with the effort. He felt like he was stuck between a rock and a hard place with Jon suddenly appearing at his doorstep.

The worst part was that he was right. They simply didn't have the means to get themselves another shield before Southpauz's fury rained down on them.

His grip tightened further, eyes screwing shut as he remembered the disaster back in the town of New Haven. He held his breath until the vivid memory passed, leaving him shaken and with images of Jon's soldiers standing over too many innocent, dead souls plastered like silhouettes against his eyelids. It took a few moments more to quell the accompanying shame and guilt left over from the attack.

By the time he pulled himself away from it, his head had sunk into his hands, gripping his hair tight, almost ready to rip it out. He slowly uncurled his fingers, turning to peer back into the room at the sound of someone rummaging accompanied by shuffling footsteps and scraping chairs on the floor. He caught sight of the ghostly white figure, crouched beside the map table, nose pressed to the edge, red eyes narrowed in thought.

Hunt stepped forward and leaned against the frame, watching as the small, bushy man pressed his investigation further into the room. He was slunk low to the ground, wearing nothing more than a thin night gown. Occasionally his eyes would shoot up to Hunt, peering forth from the mane of brilliant white hair that ringed his face and hung over his gaze like ragged drapes. The glances were brief; he was absorbed in his search.

Hunt knew better to speak to him before the man spoke to him, lest he startle him back to his lab for the remainder of the day. He felt that he should say _something_ , though, as he reached the chair Jon had been sitting in and, after wrinkling his nose at whatever he'd smelled, dragged his tongue across the seat. Just as Hunt was opening his mouth, though, the man stood straight and whirled to face him.

“Tell them to stop,” he said.

“Toni, what are you talking about?”

Toni's eyes widened, his gaze intensifying before he whirled back to the chair. “Your nipples are staring at me, Spades,” he said. He muttered some incoherent and possibly a little insane beneath his breath as he adjusted his cracked glasses. “It makes me highly uncomfortable. I can't have it. So tell them to stop as I have told them several times and they have not; I do hope they listen to you as they _are_ yours.

“Also, it absolutely reeks of pompous asshole in here.” He gave a sniff, then cringed. “Who was in here that smells this terribly of cocky anus?”

“I've already called the others here to discuss that,” he said. “You should get dressed. I'll put on a shirt to...to make my. Nipples. Stop staring at you.”

“Excellent, excellent.” Toni moved from the chair to some plaque on the wall, reaching out to run shaky fingers across the dulled surface. “Yes, that's...that's excellent... Very excellent...” He trailed off into muttering as Hunt left the room.

He came back fully dressed, opting for his usual: a thick, dark grey sweater, grey camouflage cargo pants, a belt with everything he needed. He gave himself a bit of colour with the dull red scarf slung loosely around his shoulders, but nothing else, everything right down to the old beret, fingerless gloves, mismatched boots, and the string he used to pull as much of his hair as he could into a messy ponytail was a dull, colourless grey.

Toni was standing on a chair on top of a sturdy wooden box beside the map table, talking loud and clear, “...and that's why it's of the utmost importance that you have a box, maybe two, yes, two would be good, sent to me immediately, Spades,” he said, although he was showing clear interest in the ceiling, eyes fixed on a point between the two hands he'd placed on its surface, as he spoke. “You do understand, right?” He glanced down at him.

“'Fraid not,” Hunt said.

Toni's arms fell to his sides. “Weren't you listening to me at all?”

“I left the room. You saw me leave.”

From the look he was getting, Hunt was pretty sure that, if Toni had even acknowledged his absence in the first place, it'd flown his addled mind. “What I was saying, Spades,” he said slowly, “is that my lab smells like bacon right now. Bacon and dirty hookers, hookers, I believe, of the male and/or intersex variety. I hate bacon. I can't have my lab smelling like bacon. Do you know what bacon's for? Bacon is for morons and sycophants, of which I am certainly neither.

“Therefore I need air fresheners. A lot of air fresheners, I demand at least two boxes but more would be appreciated,” he said. “And I _was_ going to go on to say that I would like them to be, to be old book smell. Ms. Newhouse sold them once upon a time, back when I was mentally stable enough to trust myself to walk down into her shop without grabbing the incendiary pistols and trying to light the entire place on fire.”

“I'll look into that,” Hunt said. As trivial as his protests and complaints seemed, he knew the man to go on for days at a time about them. “Come on down from the chair, Toni. Didn't I tell you to get dressed?”

He walked around the table, offering his hands to help. Toni's head reared back in momentary disgust. The moment his gaze touched Hunt's face, though, it fell to his normal deadpan, as if recognizing the ally in him once more. He accepted his help down. Feet planted on the floor, he grabbed the box and hugged it to his chest; it'd been used to hold some files, which Toni had at least the courtesy to dump on the desk instead of on the floor.

“I am dressed,” he said, glassy eyes fixed on some invisible point. “Imagine the embarrassment if I were to be going around naked.”

“I meant in day clothes,” Hunt said. “Work clothes. Shirt, pants, your jacket, can't forget your jacket, right?”

“Oh. You need to be more specific,” he said. He began to meander his way towards this entrance. “I would like to keep this box,” he added just before leaving the room, with no intention of letting Hunt say yes or no.

Hunt sighed and ran one hand through his bangs. What a handful, but his mind was worth the micromanaging he needed at times.

“Hunt.”

He turned to face the young woman at the doorway, her thin brown eyes settled into a permanently disapproving glare, raven black hair fall pin straight over her shoulders, the warm, beige tones of her skin patterned by tattoos, some inked and some not. Her left arm was bared to the world, encircled by light blue tattoos that crawled up the side of her neck and stretched to the centre of her chest, near her collarbone.

He knew those tattoos dominated the entire left side of her body. She was a Siren. The only thing in her wear, a slim tank top, her right arm armoured, and baggier pants made from thick fabric tucked into her boots, to show off these tattoos was the baring of her left arm, in which she wore nothing more than a small bracer on. He also knew that, if she were to clothe it anymore than that, she would simply destroy it the next time she channelled her powers down that arm.

“Where's Alex?” he asked.

She strode further into the room. She was tall. Nearly his height, in fact. “He wasn't in his room,” she said. “Why so urgent? I was going to take some of the raiders out and kill the bandits outside our walls again.”

“Hold off for the day, Alice,” he said. “There's a bigger threat we have to deal with. Much bigger than a few bandits trying to harass us.”

“Does it have something to do with the smell of pompous asshole in here?”

“Actually? Yes.”

They both looked when a young man, dishevelled and half dressed, slid to a clumsy stop at the door. “Am I late? What'd I miss?” he said.

His blond curls were short, but his bangs just long enough to fall into his green eyes, which were barely visible behind the dirty goggles slash glasses he wore. His fair skin was dotted and spotted, each inch dominated by the generous helping of freckles given to him by a combination of sun and genetics.

He, like most, wore cargo oants. Unlike most, his pockets bulged with any variety of items that he would pick up. His vest, equally packed with junk, hung open just like his pants, into which he struggled to shove his dirty white shirt into. He was only wearing one boot; the other he'd thrown on the floor upon his arrival to manage his shirt.

“Nothing, you're not even the last,” Hunt said. “We're waiting on Toni—”

“I'm right here why are you waiting for me?” Even Hunt jumped at the voice from behind.

He whirled to face the small man.  “How—”

Toni cocked his head. “I climbed up to the balcony,” he said.

Hunt let his head fall into one hand. _“Why?”_

Toni gave him an odd look and probably had no intention of answering. At least he was dressed. Jeans tucked into boots, a loose shirt that exposed a large expanse of flesh beneath his throat (the tops of vicious scars just barely visible) and his reddish jacket that fell to his knees left to hang open. He put on fingerless gloves, as well, but the collar around his neck was always there, whether asleep or awake.

“If you're gonna say Dr. Sier,” Alex piped up, “she said that she wouldn't be showing up for this one.”

“What? Why?” he demanded. “This is probably the most important meeting and she wants to—”

“The Wasenki twins are ill,” Alex interrupted. He pushed his hair out of his face. “She didn't want to leave them.”

He deflated. “Right,” he said. How could he drag her away from the orphaned girls? He could talk to her in private later. “Then everyone's here.”

“Must be huge if you're not telling Elise or Lizz,” Alex said.

“They'll know soon enough,” he said.

He launched into his explanation of that morning's events. The moment he mentioned Jon, both Alice and Alex paled and exchanged looks.

Alice's tattoos suddenly flashed with anger. “Now's our chance to just kill him!” she said. “Maybe it won't destroy Johnston Inc., but it'll cripple them long enough that they won't be a problem while we deal with Southpauz.”

“We can't,” Hunt said. “He's our only way of getting a shield.”

“We'll loot his body! We'll find a way to get that shield, anyways!”

“It's too much of a long shot,” he said. “I'm not risking all of Sanctuary, not even to kill _him.”_

“So you're saying that he's got us stuck between a rock and a hard place,” Alex said. “As per fucking usual with him.”

“Do you two have a history with him?” Hunt asked, looking between them.

Admittedly, he didn't know much about their escapades before they'd shown up at Sanctuary looking for shelter from Johnston's forces. They'd been around for a few months, at most, and had been priceless in helping keep bandits away and keeping Sanctuary's head above water. He hadn't pried, how could he? They were helping and that was all that mattered at the time.

“More or less,” Alice said through gritted teeth.

“We were a part of the whole Helios incident,” Alex said. Hunt's eyebrows raised. “Yeah, nasty stuff, right? Point is, I'm not sure Johnston can sit here knowing we're around without straight up, y'know, killing us?”

“He already knows Alice is here.”

“There's no way!” she yelled. Once again her tattoos flashed and Hunt was starting to wonder if she would lash out. “I did a lot to cover my tracks— _How the hell—”_

“I don't know, but he says he wants you in order to charge the Vault Key.”

“Southpauz has the Vault Key,” Toni said. He wrapped himself up in his own arms, eyes going wide as he recounted. “They ripped it...from my fingers... My Vault Key... _My_ Vault Key...”

“Dude, you okay?” Alex said, one hand on his arm. Toni shook his head and turned into Hunt, who let his arm rest on his shoulders as he trembled.

“He says it's fear mongering on their part,” Hunt said. “But as far as I know, Southpauz has control of the site of the Vault, anyways, so he'll probably want us to take that for him, too.”

“I'm not charging his stupid key,” Alice said.

“Maybe we can bargain...”

“Actually, here's the thin',” they turned to face Jon, who had appeared at the door, “I don't need you _yet_ , Alice. As a matter of fact, I might not need you at all. There's a high probability that I won't; you're just a back up. So don't worry.”

Her hands clenched into fists. “Johnston—!”

“Let's let bygones be bygones,” he said. He strode a couple of steps inside the room and the Enforcer appeared at the door, arms folded across his chest. “Nice of you to gather everyone important in this shithole, Spades. Let me make this clear to all of you: I'm willin' to let Sanctuary and all its innocent folks fall off my radar if I get what I came here for. You get your shield, you get your purpose, and you get my aid. Honestly, people, how can I make the decision any easier?”

“Try not being a genocidal maniac, it might get you a few votes of confidence,” Hunt said.

He laughed. “Maniac? How sweet of you,” he said. “But as far as Sanctuary knows, I'm just a very rich and very powerful man who happens to be going after the Vault. All of my votes of confidence are in them; they would _love_ my protection.”

“What exactly is your plan?” Alex said. “For us, I mean.”

“I have a list.” Jon snapped his fingers and held up a hand. Tom handed him an envelope, which he tore open and whipped out the contents. “These people should all be highly skilled and I plan to bring them here, to Sanctuary, for your use and, whenever I happen to need you, mine.”

He strode past him to the map table. “Now, I'm going to set a minor shield over this dump that will hold you until we get a better shield,” he said. “And for that, I'm going to have you pack of savages capture one of my trains here,” he placed his finger on the map, “in exactly twenty-three days.”

“Why?” Hunt said.

“There'll be a shield core on it,” he said. “And it spins the illusion to our mutual enemy that you and I are still at odds. As they say, 'Southpauz is always watching,' am I right? In the mean time, I will be sending a few faces your way. Some of them you might know, in fact.”  He glanced at the paper, squinting a bit.  "Lemme see...  Mr. Tankov, ring a bell?"

“Hang on, Johnston. We haven't decided anything yet,” Hunt said. He stepped away from Jon, but it wasn't easy to do with Toni clinging so tightly to him.

“I think we should, though,” Alex said.

“What other choice do we have?” Alice spat.

Hunt sighed. “Toni?” He looked down at the short man, giving him a bit of a nudge. He clung even more tightly. “Toni, come on, do you have an opinion?”

“Don't care,” he said, shaking his head. “Don't care...”

“Dare I say that decides it?” Jon asked, raising one eyebrow at him.

Hunt pursed his lips. “Exactly who are you bringing here besides Tankov?”

“A young man by the name of Nunya,” Jon said. Hunt flinched when Jon tapped him on the nose before spinning on the heel and making for the door. “I'm going to take care of your shield and see myself out. You'll see me around in a little while.”

Hunt released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding once Jon was gone from sight once more. “What an asshole...” he growled beneath his breath.

“What do you expect he'll have us do?” Alex asked.

“Raids, probably,” he said. “He's turning our attention solely to Southpauz. Not that I'm complaining about _that_ , but at the same time...”

“...it's _him,”_ Alice said with a sneer.

Hunt nodded. “Precisely. But it's like you said, we have no real choice.”

“We're doing it for the safety of the people here,” Alex said. “We're doing it for Sanctuary.”

“We're doing it for Sanctuary,” Alice and Hunt echoed.

“But that doesn't mean it feels right,” Hunt said.


End file.
